


Homesick

by violet_quill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_quill/pseuds/violet_quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House doesn't care for the next Mrs. Wilson. But his reason may be even better than he realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesick

The fourth Mrs. Wilson is very different from the last three.

For one thing, she's British. For another, she has pink hair. Or a _lot_ of the time, at least – House figures she must spend more money on hair dye and colored contacts than anyone in the history of New Jersey. Maybe it's a European thing.

She's actually only the _future_ Mrs. Wilson, as they aren't due to be married until February, but they've been living together for four months, so she may as well be. House can't believe he's already acquiesced to being a best man _again_. He hates tuxedos.

He doesn't like her, of course, but he finds that he has less reason to not like her than he had for Wilson's other wives. Perhaps it's just the state of being _married to Wilson_ that he disapproves of, particularly now since a thrice-divorced man doesn't seem like so much of a catch. He has no idea how she could afford all that hair dye on the salary of a freelance journalist, as she calls herself – which he suspects translates to unemployed. Perhaps he can understand the draw of a rich doctor, after all.

But the bothersome part is, she really _doesn't_ seem to care about his money. Aside from the cosmetics, she doesn't seem to favor expensive things – her clothes look like they come from thrift stores, she doesn't have a car (says she never learned to drive, which seems odd in itself), she wears no jewelry aside from her somewhat modest engagement ring. And every once in a while she'll seem to be so delighted by something so _common_ \- like the time she went on and on about the electric tea kettle in House's kitchen, or seemed so utterly fascinated by the "Walk, Don't Walk" lights at the intersection outside the hospital. Wilson seems to find this endearing; House just thinks she's insane.

He can't even complain that she's much too young, because she isn't, really, even though she seems so. It's the pink hair that does it, but she must be close to thirty. She'd only lived in America for a year when they met, said something about escaping the aftermath of a war – which obviously made her seem quite loony right there, though really, there's no telling what the British consider to be a war these days. There was a probably a skirmish with the French over the price of croissants.

With only three months until the wedding, House is no longer keeping his opinions to himself.

"What does she _do_ all day anyway?" he asked one morning while bouncing a rubber ball against the wall in Wilson's office.

Wilson looked up from the papers he'd been studying on his desk. "Who?" he asked, distracted.

"Your fiance!"

"Dora? Oh, she... I don't know. She seems to do a lot of writing. Always sending things back to some newspaper in London." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Never seen her buy postage, though, come to think of it..."

"And what kind of a name is Dora anyway?"

"It's short for Nymphadora. Her mother was one of those new age types."

"Have you actually met her mother?"

"Well, no. Her parents are overseas, of course. I'm sure they'll come in for the wedding."

House sat in sullen silence for a moment, and finally resorted to an old standby: "You've only been divorced for a year."

Wilson sighed and let his pen clatter onto the desk in front of him. "What the hell is your problem, House? I thought you actually sort of liked her! I mean, as much as you like anybody."

"I just don't think you should be getting married again, that's all. It obviously doesn't work too well for you." House scowled.

Wilson flushed a little. "It's different this time, it's..."

"That's what you said the last two times."

"Damnit, can't you just support me in this? I'm always supportive of _you_ , no matter how stupid you're being!"

House couldn't really argue with that. But still, he'd never been stupid enough to get _married_.

"You've never approved of a single woman I've dated, let alone married," Wilson grumbled, looking back down at his desk.

"And haven't I had a pretty good track record for being right so far?"

"Oh, shut up. Get out, House, I've got work to do."

House didn't even argue, he just grabbed his cane and limped out of the office, closing the door hard behind him. He'd only taken a few steps away when someone nearly barreled into him.

"Oh my! I'm sorry!" It was, coincidentally, the woman in question. She was, in addition to all of her other quirks, extraordinarily clumsy. She smiled brightly after she registered who it was she'd nearly knocked over. "Oh, Greg. How nice to see you!"

"You're going to fall and break your leg one of these days," he grumbled by way of greeting. "And end up an old cripple like me."

She laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised one bit. Is Jimmy in his office?"

That was another thing that bugged the hell out of House. No one had ever called Wilson Jimmy but _him_. "Yeah," he said grudgingly. "But he's rather busy."

"Well, what about you?" She was still smiling, and she flicked a chunk of magenta hair away from her eyes. "How about we go get some coffee before I go in to see him? We never get a chance to chat. And after all, you're practically family to Jimmy. He talks about you non-stop!"

That admission took House a bit by surprise, and so did his own nod. "Okay," he said, convincing himself that he just wanted an opportunity to dig up more dirt on her. "There's a coffee shop on the first floor."

As they rode the elevator down, she seemed fascinated as usual. "It's such an interesting feeling!" she said the moment they started moving. "Not unlike appara – well. I hadn't been on one of these since I was a small child before I moved here."

"You must have climbed a lot of stairs, then."

She laughed. "Oh my, yes. They even stayed in one place some of the time."

He had no earthly idea what she was talking about, though that wasn't unusual. When they arrived at the first floor, she got something predictably girly and chocolatey, and he sipped on black coffee.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked after a few minutes of small talk, which he detested. Then without waiting for an answer, she plowed on. "I think I'm getting very homesick."

"Oh?" He felt his stomach fall a bit. What if they got married and Wilson took off with her back to England? The idea bothered him more than he cared to admit.

"Yes. A lot. Though it's not just home, it's... I miss magic." Her eyes widened a little as if she'd blurted out something she shouldn't have said.

He looked at her quizzically. "Well, yes, I do suppose that the smog of Jersey isn't quite as magical as autumn in the English countryside."

"Oh." She looked relieved. "Right. Well..." She hesitated. "I've been thinking of broaching a particular subject with Jimmy. One that I'm not sure he'll take to so well. How does he react to... surprises?"

Oh, damn. She really _did_ want to take him away. "Hates them," House lied automatically. "He's definitely the structured sort. Wants to know everything right up front. Doesn't care for change."

She looked at him for a moment, her head tilting to the side a little, almost as if she were _reading_ something, and he actually felt as if she knew he was lying. Not suspected. _Knew_. It was a very strange feeling.

There really wasn't anything wrong with her, and he knew it. _Oh dear god, please don't take Jimmy away from me,_ he thought, almost frantically. _I don't know what I'd do without him._

She blinked, looking startled. "I... I should go, Greg." She pushed her chair back quickly, nearly knocking it over in the process. She held out her hand. "It was nice chatting with you."

He watched her go, looking down at her half-full cup. He had no idea what had made her run away like that... he hadn't said a word.

It was only a few days later when House went to see Wilson in his office again and noticed that the other man looked absolutely terrible – as if he hadn't been sleeping. "What's wrong with you?" he asked sharply, settling into a chair without waiting for an invitation.

Wilson sighed. "It's... nothing, House. I'm fine."

"You're lying."

Another sigh. "Okay. It's Dora. She brought up the possibility of moving to England, and – "

"You told her no, of course! Didn't you?" House sounded almost fearful, even to himself.

"Well, I didn't really give her an answer, it's just that... I don't know, it brought up some feelings I hadn't had for a while, some things I hadn't wanted to think about. And I almost feel as if she _knows_ \- "

House thought of the eerie sensation he'd had that she was reading his mind. Maybe there was just something about her. "What sort of feelings?" he asked.

Wilson immediately blushed, and his eyes darted away. "Nothing. It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

House frowned. "You haven't already cheated on her, have you?"

"No! No, of course not, I..." The blush crept all the way down his neck. "I love her. I do. I mean, I think I do. It's just that..." There was obviously something deliberately unspoken here. And House had no earthly idea what it was.

"Anyway," Wilson continued, looking uncomfortable. "I got the feeling there was something wrong when I left this morning. She gave me this sad kiss, like it was our last one. I'm being crazy, aren't I?"

There was a knock on the door, and then a nurse walked in, holding two cups of coffee. "Just made a fresh pot," she said, sounding nervous. She looked at Wilson for a moment, almost with a look of longing, before leaving, and House wondered if she was one of his legion of admirers.

Wilson looked a little confused, but House just shrugged and took them both, handing one to Wilson. "You look as if you could use some," House said as he took a sip. There was a strange aftertaste.

Wilson nodded, and they sat in silence for five or ten minutes, drinking coffee, both looking as if they had something to say and neither saying it.

This was interrupted by an owl flying in through the window.

"What the hell!" Wilson blurted as the bird landed right in front of him on his desk. He looked at House as if expecting some explanation, but House was just as surprised as he was.

The owl let out a loud squawk and uncurled his toes, dropping a rolled up piece of paper with a small vile tied to it onto Wilson's desk. Then it spread its wings and disappeared through the window again.

"Well, doesn't that just beat all," Wilson muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it a letter or something?" House asked, leaning forward to peer at the paper.

Wilson unrolled it and scanned it briefly, his forehead furrowing in confusion before he began to read out loud.

 _Dear Jimmy,_

I know that Greg is there with you. This is going to sound a bit odd, but you saw me just moments ago, and -

"Moments ago?" House glanced back towards the door. "Is it from the nurse?"

"No, it's from Dora," Wilson murmured, then continued to read.

 _... and I'm already back in England. Before I explain any further, though... do me a favor, Jimmy. Ask Greg how he feels about you._

"What?" House leaned forward again, trying to read the letter himself. "Has she gone completely insane?"

Wilson looked just as confused. "In England? How...? And..." He looked up at House. "How do you _feel_ about me? What on earth – "

"I love you," House said.

There was a beat, and it would be difficult to say which of the two seemed more surprised.

"What?" Wilson blinked.

"I love you," House repeated. But that really hadn't been what he'd been planning to say.

"I love you, too," Wilson said, and then clamped his hand over his own mouth. "That! That – that wasn't what I meant to say..." he stammered, sounding mortified.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, and Wilson finally swallowed and looked down at the letter, beginning to read again, his voice shaking a little.

 _If you did as I asked and it went as I knew it would, then you'll understand why I had to do this. I want you to be happy, Jimmy, more than anything. And even though I know we could have been so together – I don't think either one of us would have been as happy as we could be. You, without Greg, and me, without magic._

I won't try to explain about magic, you'll just have to take it on faith. Or think that I'm crazy, whichever suits you better. Either way, I thought that I could escape it, and now I know that that was wrong. The same way that you couldn't escape your feelings for Greg.

You will find attached to this letter a vial of potion. You're welcome to run your tests on it, to make sure that it's not poison or some such nonsense. You won't recognize some of the ingredients, but you'll find it all completely innocuous. An acquaintance of mine brewed it for me, the same one that taught me Legilimancy.

"What's Legilimancy?" House asked, somehow finding an unfamiliar word easier to latch onto than the rest of the letter that was making absolutely no sense.

Wilson shrugged, and continued, his eyes still a little wide.

 _He owed me a favor, and as much as filling it displeased him, I suspect that being in my debt vexed him even more. It's for Greg. I'm breaking all sorts of laws by giving you this, not to mention the ones for slipping the Veritaserum into your coffee, but I figure the pair of you would have no idea who to turn me in to. And I expect that you'll be too pleased by the results to care, anyway._

I hope you'll believe me when I say that I think this all worked out for the better. I do love you, Jimmy, but there are other things that I love more. And there is someone _else_ that you love more, even if you didn't realize it.

I'm going home, but I think you'll find that you are, too.

Love,  
Dora

Wilson slowly put down the letter, and he and House just looked at each other for a moment. A very long moment.

Wilson was the first to move, and then he was on the other side of the desk and kissing House before the other man realized what was happening. _Dora was right_ , he thought vaguely. _It's like coming home._

When they finally parted, House snatched the vial from the desk. "To hell with tests," he muttered. "Pump my stomach if you have to." And despite Wilson's sound of protest, he downed the contents in one gulp. A warmth spread through his body, straight down to his leg.

By the time Wilson and Dora would have been married, House and Wilson had moved in together.

And they played racquetball every Sunday.


End file.
